Brown Monkey presents: A Study in Octarine
by RPGMP3-Pencil-Monkey
Summary: A toy monkey, his polar bear friend, and a plastered cast of consulting-detective-wannabes explore the perils of Ankh-Morpork. Turns out that the tentacle monsters from the Dungeon Dimensions aren't half as terrifying as the puns. (This story was written as an audio script pitch for the Brown Monkey podcast; as such, it is very, very silly.)
1. Chapter 1

_[Author note:] This story was originally intended as a script pitch for an audio drama podcast, the Brown Monkey Audio series, along with their British collaborators in the BBM, who have recently started the Adventures of Curly Fu & Peanut podcast. _

_I had an idea for a story that would combine the characters of the Discworld with the investigative mystery of the Sherlock Holmes universe, with a generous dollop of Lovecraftian horrors from the Cthulhu Mythos added to the mix, for good measure. Since Brown Monkey (no relation, by the way) is known to be fond of H.P. Lovecraft, and the Curly Fu & Peanut series is a parody of the works of Arthur Conan Doyle, this seemed like a perfect match-up._

 _Unfortunately, I'd neglected to consider copyright laws: the writings of Lovecraft and Conan Doyle have long since moved into the public domain, and are – more or less – fair game for audio adaptations, but anyone wishing to fiddle around with Sir Pterry's books would have to gain permission from the executors of his estate, or some such. (There's a group of people who were recently working on an amateur radio play adaptation of the popular Discworld novel Monstrous Regiment, who encountered the same problem, and ended up getting a cease-and-desist order.)_

 _It's possible that, since this is an "original" story (as original as fanfic can be, anyway), this story might pass muster and get permission for turning it into an audio drama podcast, without having to pay royalties and so on. However, since I'm nothing if not incredibly lazy, I decided not to go to all that trouble. Hopefully, you will still be able to enjoy the silliness of it, even without the voice acting. Bear in mind that this is a parody of a satire of a pastiche, and some (i.e. all) of the characters may seem slightly (or totally) out of character. Imagine, if you will, the Muppets performing a stage production, and you'll probably get the gist of what's going on here._

 _Finally, if you're unfamiliar with Brown Monkey Audio and the Adventures of Curly Fu & Peanut, please go look them up online, and listen to some of their episodes. They're great entertainment, and this story will make a lot more sense if you're acquainted with the cast. As an added bonus, you can pretend that you're reading the lines of the script in their voices, inside your head. It really adds to the experience. _

_Go on, try it. You know you want to._

 _Oh, and even more finally: feel free to skip the first chapter, it's just a bunch of exposition to introduce people to the Discworld, in case they haven't read the novels already. The first chapter doesn't even have any explosions or knife fights in it, that's how boring it is. Seriously, skip ahead to chapter two, nobody will ever know._

 _...Still here? Okay, brace yourself for painful irony and even more agonizing puns._

* * *

 **Scene 1**

 _[Inside the home of Brown Monkey and Sherman the Polar Bear.]_

 _[SFX: Gentle welcoming intro music plays for a moment, and then fades]_

 _[SFX: Door opens, and a toy monkey walks into the room.]_

 **Brownie:** Hey, Sherm!

 **Sherman:** Hey, Brownie.

 **Brownie:** What's that book you're reading?

 **Sherman:** It's called "The Colour of Magic", by the late British author, Sir Terry Pratchett, Brownie.

 **Brownie:** Oh, did he leave you waiting for it a long time?

 **Sherman:** Actually, Brownie, this book was published in 1983. And I meant that he was late, in the sense that he passed away recently.

 **Brownie:** Oh! So what's the color of magic, then? I bet it's _brown_ , ha ha ha!

 **Sherman:** Not quite, Brownie; the color of magic is called octarine, and can only be perceived by certain people, such as wizards. It was postulated to be an eight color in the spectrum of light. This is significant, because the number eight holds great importance in the fantasy realm called Discworld, invented by Sir Terry, or: "Sir Pterry", as his fans liked to call him.

 **Brownie:** You just said the same thing twice, Sherm.

 **Sherman:** No, Brownie. Terry Pratchett's nickname, Sir Pterry, is spelled P-T-E-R-RY, with a silent P. This is similar to the name of Ptolemy, who...

 **Brownie:** That's great, Sherm, but why are you so interested in reading this book? Actually, I think I can guess: it's full of lots of really boring facts and stuff, like a math book, or a pile of Trivial Pursuit cards that got all stuck together when I accidentally dropped my peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the game box, right?

 **Sherman:** Actually, Brownie, the Discworld novels are very humorous and comedic, while also providing poignant observations of what it means to be a sapient, sentient being in this strange, infinite universe. Sir Terry had also read H.P. Lovecraft's stories about the Cthulhu Mythos, and included numerous references to it, in his own books.

 **Brownie:** Huh! So it's a bit like our show, then?

 **Sherman:** You could say that, Brownie. As a matter of fact, one of our listeners sent us a manuscript...

 _[SFX: rustling paper]_

 **Sherman:** ...It's based on the Lovecraftian elements of the Discworld novels. He asked us if we would be interested in recording an audio drama version of it. He even included several elements from one of the classic, original Sherlock Holmes stories, to help lure Fred Turner, and the other members of the British Brown Monkey Audio department, out of hiding, and get them to help with the recording.

 _[SFX: Someone suddenly appearing in the room, possibly knocking some furniture over]_

 **Stanislaw:** That is out of the question! Who does he think he is, showing up out of nowhere, trying to bait us with Sherlock Holmes parodies? As though we'd just drop everything and leap to attention, faster than you could say "Arthur", as soon as someone mentions Conan Doyle?

 **Sherman:** Stanislaw? Where did you come from? And wasn't that the same way you joined the show, once upon a time?

 **Stanislaw:** Never mind that, we need to focus on the important part, here: throwing out this blatantly obsequious brownnoser and his Baker Street irregularities!

 **Brownie:** Hey! What's wrong with my nose?

 **Sherman:** That's too bad, Stanislaw… although I must say how much I respect your moral fortitude, in sticking to your principles, even though you're being offered a unique opportunity.

 **Stanislaw:** _[suspicious tone of voice]_ ...What do you mean?

 **Sherman:** Well, the author of the script thought that you should play the part of Havelock Vetinari, the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork. Vetinari is a veritable genius who rules an entire nation through subtlety, cunning, and deft manipulation.

 **Stanislaw:** What? Let me see that!

 _[SFX: Paper being pulled out of someone's hand a polar bear's paw]_

 **Stanislaw:** ...We-e-ell, on second thought, maybe we shouldn't be _too_ hasty. I mean, we wouldn't want to discourage an, uh... enthusiastic amateur with a great sense of casting, would we? We should, erm... give him a chance, and take a look at this script, first.

 **Brownie:** Hey Stanislaw, how did you get over here so quickly, all the way from Belgium?

 **Stanislaw:** ...Mmmy impeccable sense of timing?

 **Brownie:** Were you hiding in the kitchen again, eating all our chocolate chip cookies while calling them "biscuits"?

 **Stanislaw:** No! Absolutely not! I just, uh... needed to use your bathroom.

 **Brownie:** Really? You should probably start reading the 'best before' date on the cookie packets, then.

 **Stanislaw:** Shut up, Monkey.

 _[SFX: footsteps retreating]_

 **Brownie:** [shouting] Remember to flush when you're done! [Normal voice] Anyway, that sounds really cool, Sherm. Who sent it?

 **Sherman:** It was someone called Pencil-Monkey. Do you know him?

 **Brownie:** Oh, him? Yeah, that's my cousin's sister's nephew's great-great-grandfather's aunt's cleaning lady's stepbrother's neighbor!

 **Sherman:** Really?

 **Brownie:** No. I've never heard of the guy, before. And it's kinda rude of you to assume that I would know some random monkey, just because I'm a toy monkey, myself.

 **Sherman:** I'm sorry, Brownie.

 **Brownie:** I'd almost call you a racist, but I know you're not fast enough to run any kind of race. Ha ha ha!

 **Sherman:** That's not very nice, Brownie.

 **Brownie:** What? It's true! I've never seen you move faster than a sort of lumbering waddle, unless there was a bowl of minestrone chicken soup behind the finish line.

 **Sherman:** I thought I asked you not to bring up that again, Brownie. It was not one of my proudest moments.

 **Brownie:** Sorry, Sherm. So what's in this script, anyway? Is it any good? Should we start recording it?

 _[SFX: Polar bear claws tapping over laptop keyboard]_

 **Sherman:** Actually, Brownie... It looks like Pencil-Monkey already recorded our voice acting, and sent us the edited file, while we were talking, just now.

 **Brownie:** What?! How is that even possible? [Suspicious tone of voice] Does he have a time machine? Is he one of those twelve monkeys from that movie with Bruce Willis you like?

 **Sherman:** No, I don't think so, Brownie.

 **Brownie:** Then how could he have recorded us, acting out his script, when we haven't even read it, yet?

 _[SFX: Faint sounds of recorded voices being played back on laptop]_

 **Sherman:** Hmm... From the sound of it, he must have recorded us with microphones hidden in our house, Brownie.

 **Brownie:** Really? That's creepy! Could he really get a whole podcast episode out of that? One that matches with his script?

 **Sherman:** Well, you do tend to talk a lot in your sleep… and when you're playing with your cereal, in the morning. Oh, and you also talk a lot when you-

 **Brownie:** What's that got to do with it?

 **Sherman:** Have you ever heard the expression: if you give a thousand monkeys a thousand typewriters, they will eventually write the complete works of William Shakespeare?

 **Brownie:** No?

 **Sherman:** Well, it seems that, if you plant a thousand hidden miniature microphones in the same room as an excitable toy monkey, you will eventually get...

 _[SFX: dramatic background intro music starts playing, Sherman's voice gets all echo-ey with plenty of reverb]_

 **A STUDY IN OCTARINE** **!**

 **Starring:**

 **Brown Monk-**

 _[Music cuts off, possibly with a screech like a record player being stopped]_

 **Brownie:** Hang on, Sherm. Hasn't this been done before?

 **Sherman:** What do you mean, Brownie?

 **Brownie:** Well, you said that this is going to be Sherlock Holmes versus Cthulhu, right? And that mash-up idea has already been explored by the critically-acclaimed Belgian writer, Neil Gaiman, in his award-winning short story, _A Study in Emerald_ \- which, incidentally, also inspired a board game of the same name.

 **Sherman:** I'm impressed, Brownie. Have you read the story, yourself?

 **Brownie:** Nah, I heard the guys down at the comic book store talk about it. Did you know that the Queen of Belgium has tentacles? I didn't know that, it sounds gross.

 **Sherman:** I don't think that's going to be a problem, Brownie. After all, we're adding the comedy aspect of the Discworld novels to the story, as well.

 **Brownie:** Okay, Sherm. I just wish I had read some of those Pa-Terry books, so I knew what I was getting into.

 _[SFX: Book makes rustling noise when it's lifted]_

 **Sherman:** Would you like to try this one, Brownie? You can borrow it, if you like.

 **Brownie:** Nah, that's okay, Sherm. It looks like it's got too much writing in it for my taste, anyway.

 **Sherman:** Actually, Brownie, several of Sir Terry Pratchett's novels have been converted into comic books, graphic novels, animated TV series, and live-action TV films. And there are a few of his books, that are heavily illustrated picture books, such as _Where's My Cow?_ , and _The Last Hero_.

 _[SFX: Another, larger book being picked up and opened]_

 **Sherman:** Look!

 **Brownie:** Wow! That's gorgeous! What's it about?

 **Sherman:** _The Last Hero_ is a quasi-mythopoeic narrative featuring a creative subversion of Joseph Campbell's monomyth, or Hero's Journey, subtly interlaced with the contemplations of a once-great group of men faced with their own mortality, and-

 **Brownie:** Huh?

 **Sherman:** [sighs] It's about wizards, policemen, and an orangutan, who all visit the moon in a dragon-powered space ship, on their way to stop a group of wrinkly old nearly-retired barbarian heroes from blowing up the mountain Cori Celesti, the home of the gods themselves, using a sled packed with explosives.

 **Brownie:** Wow, cool! Why didn't you just say so in the first place, Sherm?

 **Sherman:** Yes, Brownie. That was silly of me. As the saying goes: "Know thy audience".

 **Brownie:** That's right, Sherm. And to thine own self be true.

 **Sherman:** I'm impressed, Brownie. Where did you learn that phrase? Do you know what it means?

 **Brownie:** Of course I do, Sherm. "Thine" is a fancy way of saying that you're eating something, and that it's so fancy, it's given you a lisp.

 **Sherman:** Actually, Brownie, that's not...

 **Brownie:** Sure it is, Sherm! Haven't you ever been to a roadthide thiner, before? I once visited the 29 Thiner in Fairfax, Virginia, but it was false advertisement, 'cause there were only twenty-three people inside. The thining experience wasn't that great, either; there was this weird old guy, who took out his thentures, and it was really gross, because-

 _[SFX: Door slamming open]_

 **Tucker:** That was _me_ , you blithering nincompoop! And they weren't dentures, I was putting my chewing gum in a napkin, before savoring the meal I'd just bought.

 **Brownie:** [wailing] She-e-erm! Tucker said a bad word.

 **Sherman:** Actually, Brownie, the word "nincompoop" is not really as bad as-

 **Brownie:** Ha ha ha! You said "poop". That's dirty!

 **Tucker:** Sherman, aren't you the least bit concerned about the possible ramifications of parodying so many influential writers?

 **Brownie:** [shaky voice] You mean... you think that the ghosts of H.P. Lovecraft, Arthur Conan Doyle, _and_ Terry Pratchett, are all going to come back to haunt us?!

 **Tucker:** Actually, I was more worried about lawsuits - but sure, let's talk about ghost writers.

 **Sherman:** Well, we've never had problems before, doing audio dramas based on the stories about Sherlock Holmes or the Cthulhu Mythos, so I don't see why it should be a problem, adding the Discworld novels, too. By all accounts, Sir Terry was a rather amiable person...

 **Brownie:** Oh, that's good!

 **Sherman:** ...Except when he was riled, for then, his wrath was mighty indeed.

 **Brownie:** Ehhhh...

 **Sherman:** His underlying sense of righteous anger was legendary! In fact, if anyone was able to come back as a poltergeist - an angry and destructive ghost - I would say that Sir Terry Pratchett would be among the most likely candidates.

 **Brownie:** That's re-e-eally not helping, Sherm.

 **Sherman:** Don't worry, Brownie. Sir Terry was an author - I doubt his ghost would do anything more damaging than emptying out our drinks cabinet.

 **Brownie:** Oh! That's okay, then. I don't keep any of my Mountain Dew in there, anyway.

 **Sherman:** Come to think of it, I do believe that Sir Terry's favorite tipple, or beverage of choice, was the banana daiquiri.

 **Brownie:** [screams] AAAAH! B-b-but Sherm! That's my favorite leverage, too!

 **Sherman:** Relax, Brownie; you only ever get non-alcoholic banana daiquiris. Sir Terry probably wouldn't be too interested in those.

 **Brownie:** [sighs with relief] Jeez, Sherm! Are you deliberately trying to send me on some emotional rollercoaster? You don't have any more nasty surprises up your sleeve, do you?

 **Sherman:** Well...

 **Brownie:** What?

 **Sherman:** It's just that... Sir Christopher Lee died recently, too, and he was actually quite strongly involved with the Discworld stories.

 **Brownie:** Oh no... Here it comes! Let me hear the bad news, Sherm. I can take it! In fact, I'll take it _out_ \- on you!

 **Sherman:** You see, Christopher Lee provided the voice acting for the character of the Grim Reaper, the anthropomorphic avatar of Death itself, in many of the dramatizations of the Discworld novels.

 **Brownie:** Are you kidding me?!

 **Sherman:** No, Brownie. Furthermore, as you probably know, Christopher Lee is most famous for his portrayals of Dracula, Frankenstein's monster, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Saruman, the Sith Count Dooku, and numerous other roles in fantasy and horror movies. He's also recorded several heavy metal albums, including some about his ancestor, Charlemagne, and in his youth, he was a highly trained soldier in the British Royal Air Forces, and fought in World War II.

 **Brownie:** So what you're saying is: the one person with the most experience in finding a way to return from beyond the grave, also happens to be extremely intimidating and potentially lethal - and we're about to poke fun at him.

 **Sherman:** That's a fairly accurate summary, Brownie.

 **Brownie:** Well, if this can get any worse, I can't imagine how... and frankly, I don't think I'd wanna know. Tucker! Hurry up and play the audio, before Sherm says: "At least it's not raining", or something.

 _[SFX: dramatic background intro music starts playing again, Sherman's voice gets all echo-ey with plenty of reverb]_

 **A STUDY IN OCTARINE!**

 **Starring:**

 **Brown Monkey** , as Corporal Nobby Nobbs!

 **Sherman the Polar Bear** , as Constable Dorfl!

 **Tucker Schwab** , as His Grace, the Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel _Mister_ Vimes!

 **Jelly Beans** , as Young Sam!

 **Stanislaw (AKA Sherlock from Curly Fu & Peanut)**, as Patrician Havelock Vetinari!

 **Watson (from Curly Fu & Peanut)**, as Igor!

 **Anna Thesia** , as Captain Angua von Überwald!

 **Gustav** , as Otto Chriek!

 **(Continued cast of characters, credits to anyone who provided music and SFX, etc.)**

 _[End scene]_


	2. Chapter 2

**Scene 2**

 _[Interior. Patrician Vetinari's office, in the Ankh-Morpork palace.]_

 _[SFX: Knocking on door.]_

 **Vetinari:** Come in, Commander Vimes.

 _[SFX: Door opens, Vimes steps inside. Clerks mumbling industriously and doing paperwork can be heard outside, but cuts off when the door is closed.]_

 **Vimes:** Lord Vetinari? You wanted to see me? Oh, I see that Mr. Fusspot is looking cheerful, today.

 **Vetinari:** Yes, he's been a bit under the weather, recently, but he's feeling much better now. Isn't that right, Mr. Fusspot?

 **Mr. Fusspot:** [woofs affirmatively]

 **Vimes:** Under the weather, sir?

 **Vetinari:** Yes, one of those low-hanging miniature storm clouds that have been picking up stray magic from Unseen University. Poor little Mr. Fusspot, his fur was standing on end from all that static electricity, and he didn't enjoy the rains of fish, not at all.

 **Mr. Fusspot:** [growls]

 **Vimes:** I thought most dogs were quite happy to gobble down anything remotely edible?

 **Vetinari:** That is usually true. However, in this case it was, alas, a rain of tinned sardines, and Mr. Fusspot has not yet mastered the use of a can opener. I shall have to inquire with the wizards, and ask them whether they could arrange for a rain of sausages, next time.

 **Mr. Fusspot:** [yips happily]

 **Vimes:** I take it that you didn't order me up here to your office in the palace, just so we could chit-chat about the weather, sir?

 **Vetinari:** No, Vimes. I have a question for you; but first, I feel compelled to ask you a second question, unrelated to the first.

 **Vimes:** I'm starting to question my own ability to tell which question I'm answering, sir. Why not take the second question first, and the first question in a second?

 **Vetinari:** That was precisely my plan, Vimes.

 **Vimes:** Just anticipating your orders, sir.

 **Vetinari:** Most commendable of you, although I really would prefer it if you didn't interrupt me when I'm talking. It's making my trigger-that-releases-the-hiddentrap-door-leading-to-a-scorpion-pit finger, rather itchy.

 **Vimes:** Well, spit it out, then!

 **Vetinari:** The second question, or the first one?

 **Vimes:** I vote for the first of those options, which is actually the second.

 **Vetinari:** Seconded!

 **Vimes:** Well, that's a first. So, what's the question?

 **Vetinari:** Oh, umm... You have been in Klatchistan, I perceive?

 **Vimes:** What? No, I most certainly haven't.

 **Vetinari:** [in a sing-song voice] Mmm, yes, yes you di-i-id, you went to a foreign country recently, and I can tell it ea-sah-ly!

 **Vimes:** Did not!

 **Vetinari:** Did too!

 **Vimes:** Did not!

 **Vetinari:** Did too!

 **Vimes:** Did. Not!

 **Vetinari:** Did too... infinity!

 **Mr. Fusspot:** [woofs supportively]

 **Vetinari:** Thank you, Mr. Fusspot.

 **Vimes:** And what makes you so infinitely sure about that... sir?

 **Vetinari:** Well, for one thing, your shirt is positively slathered with the spiced sauces used so frequently in Klatchian haute cuisine. Secondly, the soles of your footwear are encrusted with a dried residue, exhibiting a peculiar hue indicative of the sandy oases of the Klatchian desert.

 **Vimes:** That's certainly a comprehensive study of the _deshabillé_ state of my attire, sir.

 **Vetinari:** Indeed!

 **Vimes:** My wife Sybil would be proud of you - although, on my salary, I probably couldn't afford _deshabillé_ , and has therefore settled for plain old "shabby".

 **Vetinari:** Mmm... Quite. Now tell me, Vimes: how perfect were my observations? Were they "spot on", as the pimple-squeezing street urchins might say, or were they merely excruciatingly exact in their pin-point accuracy?

 **Vimes:** Missed by a mile, sir.

 **Vetinari:** [happily] Capital!

 **Vimes:** Textbook definition of "erroneous".

 **Vetinari:** Glad to hear it. It's hardly surprising, since I'm always, inevitably, right – but it is, ah, gratifying to... wait, what? W-what did you say?

 **Vimes:** I said, with all due respect: Ya dun goofed! ...Sir.

 **Vetinari:** What are you talking about, man?

 **Vimes:** Well, for starters, the smears on my shirt are leftovers from the take-away I had for lunch. I picked it up in the Curry Gardens, on the corner of God Street and Blood Alley, sir, right here in the city.

 **Vetinari:** Oh... Does Sybil know you've been eating meat, again?

 **Vimes:** I'd really rather prefer that she didn't find out, sir, and... Wait, are you changing the subject already?

 **Vetinari:** I am... altering the subject. Pray I don't alter it any further.

 **Vimes:** Duly noted, sir. As for your second point: the gunk on my boots isn't remotely Klatchian, unless the poor canine that provided it had been munching on Chicken Vindaloo, too. You see, it's common dog muck, Ankh-Morpork born and bred – and now spurned and spread, even further.

 **Vetinari:** Oh, must you drag half the street into my office, Vimes?

 **Vimes:** Actually, sir... I believe that this particular bit of dog muck was indigenous to the palace, as it were. Looks like Mr. Fusspot has been doing his business on the carpet.

 **Mr. Fusspot:** [doggy noises]

 **Vetinari:** ...Oh.

 **Vimes:** Well, at least that means the stains on your floor aren't foreign, sir.

 **Vetinari:** [flustered] Why would that matter, Vimes? I have nothing against Klatchians. Some of my best friends would be Klatchian, if I _had_ friends. Do _you_ have a problem with Klatchians, Vimes?

 **Vimes:** No, but it seemed that you might have a problem with dog turds on your carpets, sir.

 **Vetinari:** Oh, will you stop nattering endlessly on about foreigners and dog doo, Vimes?

 **Vimes:** _You're_ the one who started talking about 'em, sir.

 **Vetinari:** Never mind, then. Heh, even if my deductions were slightly, uh... miscalibrated, at least I managed to impress you with my staggering observational powers, eh?

 **Vimes:** You certainly made an impression, sir.

 **Vetinari:** Every last infinitesimal detail was perceived by my keen argus-eyed, erm... eyes.

 **Vimes:** You've always struck me as particularly beady-eyed, sir.

 **Vetinari:** Oh, sod off, Vimes. What gave me away? I was being super-discreet. There's no way you could've noticed me noticing you.

 **Vimes:** The giant magnifying glass was a bit of a give-away, sir, not to mention the tape measure.

 _[SFX: Metal mechanisms being shoved aside]_

 **Vetinari:** Damn! I've got to ask Leonard to make 'em easier to conceal. I'm usually the very soul of discretion, keeping abreast of every event in this city, seemingly without effort.

 **Vimes:** What about that time where one of the wizards from Unseen University had to explain to you how the sun actually revolves around the Disc, and not the other way round, sir?

 **Vetinari:** Oh, shut it, Vimes! I'm a politician, why would I need to know how the world works?

 **Vimes:** Good point.

 **Vetinari:** Anyway, that wasn't why I asked you to come here today...

 _[SFX: Long moment of near-silence, chairs creaking gently in the background, as someone shifts their weight]_

 **Vimes:** ...Did you just fall asleep?

 **Vetinari:** I was pausing for dramatic emphasis!

 **Vimes:** Well, you do look like you could really use a nap, sir. Say, 12-14 hours or so. The bags under your eyes are almost big enough to give your dog a new hammock.

 **Vetinari:** Vimes... I'm afraid that Lady Morporkia is currently suffering from a grievous spate of magicide.

 **Vimes:** I think you can get an ointment for that, sir, at the apothecary shop near Misbegot Bridge. They're very discreet about that sort of thing.

 **Vetinari:** I meant: somebody's murdering wizards in the city!

 **Vimes:** Ah, I see. That would probably require quite a lot of ointment.

 **Vetinari:** One might say that there's an octarine thread of wizard-murder, running through the colourless skein of humdrum, everyday life in our fair city of Ankh-Morpork; and your duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it.

 **Vimes:** That's very poetic, sir; although, the words "fair" and "colourless" would probably rarely be used to describe anything related to Ankh-Morpork.

 **Vetinari:** Indeed.

 **Vimes:** "Technicolor yawn" would, in fact, be far more appropriate, in every sense of the phrase.

 **Vetinari:** ...Quite.

 **Vimes:** The city is a festering pile of day-old vomit, is what I'm trying to say, sir.

 **Vetinari:** Remind me to have a clerk from the Department of Tourism drop by the watch station and jot down some of your more memorable _bon mots_ , Vimes.

 **Nobby:** [shouting from outside the door] If there's bits of waffles in the vomit, it wasn't me! It was Sherman... I mean, constable Dorfl!

 **Dorfl:** [plaintively] Nob-beee!

 **Nobby:** What? It's not my fault you were sick, I told you not to buy that second meat pie from Cut-My-Own-Throat Dibbler.

 **Dorfl:** Corporal Nobbs, Please Remember That I Am Most Certainly Not A Polar Bear, Or Any Other Carnivorous Animal; I Am A Golem, Fueled By The Raw Magical Fires Of Creation, And Not By Any Kind Of Comestibles.

 **Nobby:** [sarcastic tone] Su-u-ure, and that raw pile of puke in front of the Alchemists' Guild just appeared by itself, like "magic".

 **Dorfl:** Nob-beee...

 **Nobby:** Come to think of it, considering the kind of stuff that you hear alchemists use in their brewing, that puke is probably going to dis-appear, as if by magic - it'll be worth its weight in gold, to them.

 **Vetinari:** Vimes, who are these two clowns?

 **Vimes:** They're not clowns, sir, that's constable Dorfl, and corporal Nobbs. They work for me, as members of the Ankh-Morpork city watch.

 **Vetinari:** Oh, right. I thought I recognized them from somewhere. Faces like that aren't easy to forget. So the big one is a talking polar bear dressed up in a golem costume, and the small one is some kind of monkey, is it?

 **Vimes:** Actually, sir, constable Dorfl is a golem, and certainly not any kind of polar bear.

 **Vetinari:** Did you get something in your eye, Vimes? You appear to be... winking at me.

 **Vimes:** No sir, I'm just worried about the structural integrity of the Palace. It could be dangerous, if someone broke the load-bearing fourth wall.

 **Vetinari:** Oh... _Oh!_ Alright, then. Magnificent-looking golem, right you are, certainly nothing even remotely ursine about it.

 **Nobby:** Yeah Dorfl, stop _ursine_ around. Ha ha ha!

 **Vetinari:** But the small one is _definitely_ a monkey, right?

 **Vimes:** Actually sir, corporal Nobbs is a human.

 **Vetinari:** [disbelieving tone] _Really?_

 **Vimes:** Yes sir, he's even got a piece of paper that says he's a human. It's signed, and everything.

 **Vetinari:** Well, that settles it, then. Conclusive evidence.

 **Vimes:** Open-and-shut case, sir, much like the impression of a gaping fish you seem to be doing right now.

 **Nobby:** Hey Mister Patrician sir, what's with the giant magnifying glass? Are you collecting really big stamps?

 **Vetinari:** No, corporal Nobbs, I use it for, uh... detecting things.

 **Nobby:** Really? You do know that this is an audio drama parody of a much-loved series of comedic fantasy novels, and not that Sherlock Holmes podcast of yours... right?

 **Vetinari:** What, you mean _The Adventures of Curly Fu and Peanut_ , which can be downloaded from double-you double-you double-you dot thecurlyfuandpeanut dot co dot you-kay? Yes, I'm _perfectly_ aware that this isn't _The Adventures of Curly Fu and Peanut_ (available on double-you, double-you...)

 **Nobby:** Hang on, didn't you read the small print in your contract? Just because you're Belgian, you still have to stick to your contract, even if it's written in English, and it specifically stated that you're not allowed to promote your own stuff, while we're on the air.

 **Vetinari:** OooOOooh! Well, if I was currently portraying the role of Sherlock Holmes, I would _certainly_ have to obey the law. However, I am now Havelock Vetinari, Patrician and supreme ruler of Ankh-Morpork, master of all I survey, and-

 **Dorfl:** Is That Why You Have A Theodolite In The Corner? The One That Has The Slogan "World's Greatest Detective" Stenciled On The Side?

 **Vetinari:** What? Never mind that, my point is: I am a tyrant, and I can do whatever I bloody well feel like, due to _Quia Ego Sic Dico_.

 **Vimes:** What's that?

 **Vetinari:** It means: "Because I Say So".

 **Nobby:** Oh!

 **Vetinari:** This is jolly exciting! With my massive powers of deductive reasoning, harnessed for the betterment of mankind - or at least the bit of it that's sitting here in my chair - unlimited control of an entire nation of considerable power, every string at hand, just waiting for me to pull them... Why, I do believe I feel rather like Mycroft!

 **Nobby:** Yeah, Tomb Raider was okay, but I prefer some of the more modern games, ones that combine high-quality graphics and enthralling gameplay, with a deep and well-written story arc... like Angry Birds, or Fruit Ninja!

 **Vetinari:** ...What?

 **Nobby:** You said "Croft" - as in: Lara Croft?

 **Vetinari:** Nobby, haven't you ever heard of Mycroft Holmes? Wait, don't answer that, I've got a second question I want you to answer first.

 **Vimes:** Are we about to do that whole tired "who's on first?" routine, all over again? Abbott and Costello must be rolling over in their graves.

 **Vetinari:** Shut up, Vimes. What I want to know, is what these two hooligans were doing, shouting and loitering outside my office in the first place?

 **Nobby:** [giggles] I think you just answered your own question.

 **Vimes:** Just answer the Patrician, corporal Nobbs.

 **Nobby:** We were waiting to use the recording studio... I mean, office, for our next scene, sir.

 **Vetinari:** Can't you wait five bloody minutes? I was just about to start my big monologue!

 **Vimes:** You mean, all that waffling about Klatchian threads and octarine dog turds was your _small_ monologue?

 **Nobby:** Actually, it can't wait, sir. You see, we're in hot pursuit of a suspect, who may be a wanted criminal!

 **Vetinari:** Good grief! Why are you two just standing there, then? Get after him!

 **Dorfl/Nobby:** Yes, sir!

 _[SFX: Whooshing noise, as the scene changes in a dramatic fashion]_

 _[SFX: Dramatic pulse-pounding music, setting the scene for some fast-paced action]_

 _[End scene]_


	3. Chapter 3

**Scene 3**

 _[Interior room, Ankh-Morpork]_

 _[SFX: Footsteps, someone walking up a flight of stairs]_

 _[SFX: Door creaks open]_

 **Nobby:** Glad you could make it, Mister Vimes. We've got a really strange murder case on our hands.

 **Vimes:** I thought you two were supposed to be in hot pursuit?

 **Nobby:** Yeah, but it would've cost extra to record us while we were running around outside. Plus, we'd have to bribe someone to let us close off a street for it, and we'd already spent most of the recording budget on Vetinari's giant magnifying glass. So we just skipped to the end.

 **Dorfl:** What Nobby Is Trying To Say, Sir, Is That We Pursued The Suspect On Foot, And Followed Him To This Address, Where He Slipped Inside The Building. We Have Searched The Premises, But There Is No Trace Of Him. We Also Called In Captain Angua, For Her Expert Opinion, But Even She Could Not Find Him.

 **Angua:** Yeah, I sniffed up and down every inch of this place, using my amazing werewolf senses, but the stink from Nobby's farts was too overpowering.

 **Nobby:** Hey! I didn't fart, it was Sherman!

 **Dorfl:** Actually, Corporal Nobbs, My Name Is Constable Dorfl. As You Know, I Am A Golem, And Am Therefore Incapable Of Breaking Wind, Since I Have No Biological Functions.

 **Nobby:** Oh yeah? Well, you don't _sound_ any different from normal.

 **Dorfl:** On The Contrary, Nobby; My Voice Is Actually Very Monotonous And Droning Right Now, With A Deep Rumbling Quality Of Unearthly Detachment To It. It Is Deliberately, And With Great Effort, Being Made Very Different From The Normal Speaking Voice Of Sherman The Bear, Which Is Charming And Engaging, And Full Of Vivaciousness.

 **Nobby:** Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Sherm... I mean, Dorfl.

 **Angua:** Alrite, you two! Tha'ss enough. Let's just say, that the smell from that dead body over there, must have masked the suspect's trace, yeah?

 **Nobby:** Sure, that sounds plausible!

 **Dorfl:** Perhaps There Is A Secret Exit, Hidden Somewhere In This House.

 **Nobby:** Yeah! Or maybe the guy we were chasing was actually a convenient plot device! I've heard that those guys can walk through walls!

 **Vimes:** Hold on, did my experienced police officer's ears just hear somebody mention, that there's a _dead body_ in here?

 **Angua:** Ooh, yeah! It's lying on the floor, right over there!

 **Vimes:** Gadzooks! You're right. But what was the cause of death? There doesn't appear to be any marks on the body.

 **Dorfl:** That Is What We Were Endeavouring To Ascertain, Mister Vimes.

 **Nobby:** Yeah, we were trying to read the writing on the wall.

 **Vimes:** Tone it down a notch, Nobby. It's bad enough when Constable Dorfl is spouting his polysyllabic twaddle all over the place. I don't need you to start getting all metaphorical on me, too - and in broad daylight, no less.

 **Nobby:** But I _wasn't_ being metaphorical, Mister Vimes. There really _is_ writing on the wall – look!

 **Vimes:** What, literally? Where?

 **Nobby:** Right there, on that wall.

 **Vimes:** Huh, so there is. I'd better go and have a look.

 _[SFX: Footsteps walking away]_

 **Angua:** Say, Nobby, do you remember that murder case last week? The one where someone had written on the wall, too? Ooh, it was a really nasty one! Blood and gore and bits of entrails all over the floor, and some of the ceiling, and...

 **Nobby:** Yeah, yeah. Skip to the part where I found an important clue!

 **Angua:** I was just getting to that, Nobby. Anyway, so there was actual bloody writing on the actual bloody wall, being as that someone had written on it... _in blood!_ Ooh, it was _terrible!_

 **Dorfl:** I Thought Werewolves Were Not Easily Upset By Mere Evidence Of Physical Violence?

 **Angua:** Nah, it was just the smell in there, from when the poor dead bloke 'ad pissed himself. Pwoah, what a pong! Imagine having the finest ol-fack-toh-ree acuity of anyone on the Disc, and then walking into a room full of-

 **Nobby:** Tell 'im about the tossy pancakes!

 **Dorfl:** Tossy Pancakes?

 **Angua:** The what? Oh, you mean _Tor-schluss-pah-neek!_

 **Nobby:** That's what I said.

 **Dorfl:** Torschlusspanik? The Überwaldean Word For The Profound Sense Of Existential Dread, Commonly Known As A Mid-Life Crisis?

 **Angua:** Yeah! ...Hang on, how'd you know dat?

 **Dorfl:** I Read A Lot Of Books. And I Remember Them All.

 **Angua:** Cor, are you like that _Rainman_ feller? I do like Dustin 'Offman, I do, and Tom Cruise was-

 **Nobby:** So there were tossy bloody pancakes on the wall-

 **Angua:** Oi! Shut it, Nobby. I was just gettin' to that bit. So anyway, someone 'ad written "Torschlusspanik" on the wall, right, using the dead bloke's blood, and Nobby asked me what it meant-

 **Nobby:** I was lying on a donkey that fell out of an office window!

 **Dorfl:** Donkey? What Donkey?

 **Angua:** I fink he means: he was _liaising_ with a _fellow officer_. You know, "lie-ass"? Because "ass" means donkey, here in Britai... I mean, Ankh-Morpork?

 **Nobby:** Yeah, that's what I said! Don't you speak Morporkian, Dorfl?

 **Dorfl:** Please, Continue With Your Intriguing Narrative.

 **Angua:** Well, Nobby asked me what the word meant, and when I explained it to him, he worked out a great big theory about the murder.

 **Nobby:** Yeah, it's obvious that the murderer had committed the crime in a fit of boredom, having suffered a severe case of mid-life crisis brought on by reading a dictionary from Uberwald with words like "tossy sloshy pancakes" in it.

 **Dorfl:** Did You Show This Theory To Mister Vimes?

 **Angua:** Ooh, yes he did! Old "Stoneface" Vimes was proper stony-faced after reading that.

 **Nobby:** It was a really good theory! I wrote it down on paper, and everything.

 **Angua:** It might have looked a bit more professional, if you hadn't written it on the back of a take-away menu from Harga's House of Ribs.

 **Nobby:** A real detective uses whatever means he's got at hand, to solve the case!

 **Angua:** You mean: you grab anything that isn't nailed down, when nobody's looking?

 **Dorfl:** But Was It True?

 **Angua:** Was what true?

 **Dorfl:** Corporal Nobbs's Hypothesis About The Murder? Was It Correct?

 **Angua:** Nah, 'course not! It was just a bog standard case of "jealous husband disembowels his wife's lover", happens all the time. Turns out the killer was trying to write the name of his missus, who's called Torschlusspanikita Khrushchavs, but then he remembered that he'd left his horse in a No Parking zone, and ran off when he was only half done.

 **Nobby:** My theory was much more poetic, though. Mister Khrushchavs said so, too, when we arrested him.

 **Dorfl:** Torschlusspanikita? I Thought That Was A Male Name, In Uberwald?

 **Angua:** Oh, she's not from the Old Country. Her real maiden name was Gertrude Tribblewasher, she just wanted a new name that sounded more exciting.

 _[SFX: Footsteps walking back towards the group]_

 **Vimes:** Did somebody mention... tribbles? Are you, by any chance, discussing one of the classic episodes of the second season of Star Trek, starring William Shatner as Captain James Tiberius Kirk?

 **Angua/Dorfl/Nobby:** [chorus] ...No?

 **Vimes:** In that case: quit yer yacking, and get back to work! Or were you just going to leave the task of deciphering the writing on the wall to me, you _meanie-meanies?_

 **Dorfl:** Actually, It's Pronounced "Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin".

 **Angua:** What? Up _whose_ arse?

 **Nobby:** What's been written on the wall this time, Mister Vimes? Was it a word representing an abstract concept, preferably from an obscure foreign language?

 **Dorfl:** A Word That Is Later Revealed To Actually Be The Incomplete Name Of A Woman?

 **Angua:** Ooh, and was it written in blood?

 **Vimes:** That's three wishes at once! You know that's not possible!

 **Nobby:** Actually, Mister Vimes, it would be Kinder surprise-ing if it really _wasn't_ possible. It already happened in the Khrushchavs case, remember?

 **Angua:** Don'tcher mean: " _kind of_ surprising"?

 **Nobby:** Yeah, that's what I said.

 **Vimes:** Shut your pie hole, Nobby! And get to work on deciphering this message, which was written on the wall.

 **Nobby:** Wow! That's _huge!_ It covers the entire wall, and continues up across the ceiling, and down the wall on the other side of the room! Did the killer write all that?

 **Dorfl:** Or Is It A Fake Suicide Note?

 **Angua:** [sniffing noises] Nah, it smells genuine. The dead bloke must've written it, afore he snuffed it. But it doesn't look like any suicide note I've ever read, before.

 **Nobby:** What is it, then?

 **Dorfl:** It Appears To Be A Doctoral Thesis, Written By A Wizard Named Enofh Drabble.

 **Vimes:** So that's the name of our stiff, then. And if he was writing a thesis, he must've been a pretty stiff bloke, while he was alive, too.

 **Angua:** At least 'e coulda written it in blood. Nobody's got any respect for tradition, these days.

 **Nobby:** But why was he writing it on the walls?

 **Angua:** I've heard that wizards know, well in advance, exactly when they're going to die, because of magic.

 **Nobby:** Oh! So, perhaps he ran out of paper, and knew he had to hurry up and finish it, before he was killed?

 **Vimes:** Say, did he happen to mention the name of his killer? Possibly in one of the appendices, or the list of references?

 **Dorfl:** That Does Not Appear To Be The Case, Although He Does Have An Interesting Chapter On The Thaumaturgical Equations Involved In Kuniklogenic Pilomancy.

 **Nobby:** Pilo-what?

 **Dorfl:** The Magical Ability To Pull A Rabbit Out Of A Hat, Nobby.

 **Angua:** Aw, I thought it was it something to do with predicting a person's future by looking at their piles.

 **Dorfl:** Actually, This Room Is Quite Barren. There Are No Piles Of Any Kind In Here.

 **Angua:** Piles as in _hemorrhoids_ , you big ambulatory teapot!

 **Nobby:** Eww, gross!

 **Dorfl:** Why Would You Think That Someone Would Write About Their Experiences With Looking Up The Backsides Of Other People?

 **Angua:** Well, you did say it was a _doctoral_ thesis.

 **Nobby:** Ha ha ha! You said " _thesis_ ".

 **Dorfl:** I Believe That The Word You Are Thinking Of Starts With An 'F', And Is Spelled With A 'C' In The Middle, Nobby.

 **Vimes:** Thanks for the lecture, but let's try and stick to the case.

 **Nobby:** We _did_ manage to piece together a good description of the killer, Mister Vimes.

 **Vimes:** Is that so?

 **Nobby:** Yeah! I used my powers of detectorin' to find out that the killer must've been six feet tall, with disproportionately small feet, and was wearing square-toed boots, just from detectorin' his footprints! He also had a florid complexion.

 **Vimes:** Really? Did you measure the length of his stride, and perform a complex calculation to determine his height from it, whilst noting the size of his footprints?

 **Nobby:** Nah, I found this business card from a shop called: _"Snipcorde & Son – Purveyor of the Finest Square-Toed Boots, Brogues & Galoshes For Six Feet Tall Men With Disproportionately Small Feet & Florid Complexions"_. It was lying next to one of his footprints.

 **Vimes:** So how can you be sure that the killer wasn't simply an employee at this shop, and brought the card with him to the murder scene, in order to get some free advertisement?

 **Nobby:** A-ha! If you look at the back of the card, you'll see that someone wrote, uh… _"To our most valued customer, with thanks!"_ , and then below that, in smaller letters, and in parentheses, they added: _"(Please note that if your newly purchased items of footwear are worn whilst committing a violent crime, such as, e.g., a murder, the warranty is voided, for legal reasons.)"_

 **Vimes:** Bit of bad luck for our culprit, it seems.

 **Dorfl:** There Is Another Piece Of Information About The Killer, Which We Can Deduce From The Available Evidence, Mister Vimes.

 **Vimes:** Oh? And what, pray tell, is that?

 **Dorfl:** The Murderer Must Have Arrived In A Coach Whose Horse Had One New Shoe, And Three Old Ones.

 **Vimes:** Three Old Ones? Are we getting the Cthulhu elements into this story, already?

 **Dorfl:** No, Sir. This Is A Factual Clue In Our Murder Investigation.

 **Vimes:** Was it imparted to you by another discarded business card?

 **Dorfl:** No, Mister Vimes. I Inspected The Hoof Prints In The Soft Soil Outside The Building, Which Had Been Made By The Horse That Pulled The Coach.

 **Vimes:** Did you, now? And was one of the prints sharper and more well-defined than the others?

 **Dorfl:** No, Sir.

 **Vimes:** Was the new horseshoe made from an unusual alloy, that left a nigh-imperceptible mystical trace, which could only be perceived by a supernatural creature, like a golem such as yourself?

 **Dorfl:** No, Mister Vimes.

 **Vimes:** Then _what?_

 **Dorfl:** The Coach Driver Had Neglected To Remove The Price Tag From The New Horseshoe After Purchasing It, And The Tag Had Come Loose And Was Lying In The Mud, Next To The Tracks.

 **Vimes:** Great yodeling Shoggoths! Are there any more obscure factoids from this crime scene, which you lot, want to wow me with?

 **Angua:** Ooh, I've got one! Let me 'ave a go.

 **Vimes:** Sure, go ahead, captain Angua.

 **Angua:** The killed 'ad long fingernails, and smoked cigars. _Pantweed's Slim Panatellas_ , to be precise.

 **Vimes:** And how do you know that?

 **Angua:** We-e-ell, I found one of his cigars on the floor. Look, he's one of those people who bite off the end of the cigar, like a bloody barbarian, instead of usin' a proper cigar cutter.

 **Vimes:** And what about his fingernails?

 **Angua:** The killer picked 'is nose and wiped the bogies on the wall over 'ere.

 **Nobby:** Eww, gross!

 **Angua:** My keen werewolf nose tells me, that there's a bit of blood in the bogies, so 'e probably 'ad long fingernails that scraped against the soft mucus membrane inside his nostril, making 'im bleed a little.

 **Vimes:** Congratulations! You've just described _me_ , you macrocephalic baboons! All those so-called "clues" are just bits of clutter that fell out of my pockets.

 **Angua:** What, even the bogies on the wall?

 **Dorfl:** And The Horseshoe?

 **Vimes:** My pockets are perforated to an exceptional degree. It's a recognized medical condition.

 **Angua:** Ooh, if you've got such big holes in your pockets, you should get 'em mended, Mister Vimes.

 **Vimes:** No, I like feeling the breeze against my spare change. And give me back that cigar. There's still a couple of minutes' worth of smoke left in that one.

 **Nobby:** Does that mean you're our prime suspect, Mister Vimes?

 **Vimes:** Are you saying that you find it suspicious that a police officer would be walking about a crime scene?

 **Nobby:** Sir, haven't you ever heard of "dirty cops", before?

 **Dorfl:** Considering How Many Clues And Debris He Has Left In This Room, Mister Vimes Must Be A Very Dirty Cop, Indeed.

 **Vimes:** Let me rephrase my previous question, Nobby: are you saying that you find it suspicious that your superior officer, the guy who's paying your wages - such as they are - would be on a crime scene?

 **Nobby:** Well, when you put it like _that_...

 _[SFX: Multiple footsteps receding in the distance, walking over a wooden floor]_

 **Nobby:** Hey! Wait for me!

 _[SFX: Tiny toy monkey footsteps, running away.]_

 _[SFX: Gently ominous music]_

 _[End scene]_


End file.
